We watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind last night. Finally. After having exhausted his list of must-sees and on my promise of sexual favours, J-F agreed to rent it.
J-F hates renting "downer" movies. I admit, I sometimes miss them (along with the art films and foreign crap I used to immerse myself in), though to some degree I've adopted a more escapist attitude toward movie rentals. But this movie is labelled a romantic comedy.
I cried. Much. Still crying (on the inside).
I'm not a sentimental person, not in an openly schmaltzy way anyway — I choose my sentiments carefully and keep them close. If my memories of anyone were to be erased, sure, life would be different, in the way that everything leaves an imprint on all it comes in contact with. But would any one person's erasure (Helena excepted, but even then... ) leave a marked lacuna in my life?
The movie was sad. Sadder is that I may not be desperately close to anyone the lack of whom would produce such a profound sense of something missing. Not more so than I go through life anyway with that profound sense of something missing.
Before anyone tells me it's a wonderful life, blah, blah, blah, go see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and consider very seriously all the implications of the technology it postulates. How would you know something (someone) was missing if you were programmed to be not aware of the lack?
(Elaine and I used to spend hours discussing the difference between being really truly happy and being deluded into believing you're happy — as in a cult for example. I think it's how we became friends finally in grade 8. On the rare occasions I see her or we exchange email, the subject is alive.)
The Mundane Manifesto promotes science fiction that adheres to the following rules:
No interstellar travel — travel is limited to within the solar system and is difficult, time consuming and expensive
No aliens unless the connection is distant, difficult, tenuous and expensive — and they have no interstellar travel either
No Martians, Venusians, etc.
No alternative universes or parallel worlds
No magic or supernatural elements
No time travel or teleportation
That's the best kind of SF really.
I've been watching my houseplants die. Every day for over a month now I noticed them and would think I should water them, and then I'd do something else, cuz one more day couldn't hurt. It hurt. Today finally I pored over these two once-luscious masses of vines and hacked them back to inches. Part of me wanted to throw them in the trash, but I'd already acted such a monster toward them, I couldn't bring myself to do it. So they're pruned, extremely pruned. New year, fresh start and all that.
The business on the first floor of our building suffered water damage this morning, a leak through the ceiling. Our landlord is certain that we're at fault — clogging the kitchen sink and letting the water overflow. Never mind that our kitchen sink is just fine, we're puzzled how our actions on the third floor could impact the first floor so catastrophically while bypassing the landlord's unit on the second floor entirely.
We've been watching Blue's Clues: Bluestock. We don't get to see Blue's Clues in these parts (to my knowledge anyway) though we're familiar with the show by reputation and have even seen a couple episodes while off visiting. So we picked up a DVD last week, and I might add it's a breath of fresh after watching the Caillou's Holiday Movie a gazillion times in December.
From the start Helena had a special fondness for Macy Gray's number cuz it encouraged her to "dance like a monkey." However, the phrase about dancing "like you have ants in your pants" has made an impression. She sticks out her diaper-clad bottom, pulling on the waist, and says "Regarde Mama, Papa. A bee!" Sometimes it's a spider.